by Rachel Lucas
The Director paused the video for a moment, let the silence fill the room for a long beat, then fast-forwarded to the next section. Now, on the screen, it looked as though an entirely different person stood in front of the camera, maybe dressed the same as Bethany but obviously a completely different person. An entirely different aura came from this new person, a presence that was tangible even on video. The eyes were dark and focused, the body rigid and frightening. An eerie, deep masculine voice came from the thin lips. Slayer.
“She won’t tell us much more.”
The video paused again. There were low whispers around the room. It was clear that most of the people there were having a hard time believing what they had just seen. Was that really the same person? Had that one, young, helpless looking female just morphed into that intimidating, dark, powerful being?
I almost felt sorry for them. They really had no idea what they were getting into. This was just two, two, out of at least twenty-seven different personalities. Wait until they caught a hold of Myst.
Director Phillips’ sharp eyes were no longer on the television screen but were completely focused on me. I struggled not to squirm in my chair.
“Now, I could have brought in that pompous windbag Dr. Martin Ross to brief us,” I tried not to smile that he had hit it on the head so well with his description of the doctor, “but as I’ve watched these sessions he documented of you and our suspect, I think I would rather hear about Elizabeth Marshall from you.”
Well, that was certainly putting me on the spot. He must have sensed my reluctance because he continued.
“I have one of our top forensic psychologists flying in this evening but we don’t have time to sit around and shoot the breeze until she gets here,” he stood up and came around to the front of the desk and leaned against the edge, his arms folded across his broad chest. “We have a possible serial killer at large. I’ve been trying to read through Dr. Ross’ notes, but he’s so long-winded and full of his own grand ideas on how to capitalize on the suspect, I need to just cut through the bull. What are we really dealing with here, Caitlyn?”
I looked over at Logan for a small sign of support. His quick nod was enough to give me courage. I tried not to sound too obvious when I cleared my throat.
“Elizabeth Marshall was diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder when she was a teenager. It’s also known as Multiple Personality Disorder. At last count, she has as many as twenty-seven different personalities. That we know of.”
Again, low murmurs and whispers could be heard around the room. I knew it was a lot to take in for the first time. It was a rare disorder and still not well understood by professionals, let alone the general public. Director Phillips raised his thick eyebrows at my statement but held his peace and allowed me to go on.
“She calls them the ‘family’, and that’s what they are to her,” I continued, still trying to adjust to having all eyes on me. “On the video you saw Bethany, a young girl, and Slayer, an older male I believe, and possibly her protector. If you were to watch the entire session, you would see more of the personalities.”
The Director reached behind him on the desk and picked up a pile of papers.
“Am I to understand from the doctor’s notes that you’ve been her friend since childhood?” He looked up from the papers to ask me.
“Yes,” I nodded, “years before her diagnosis.”
“And you’re familiar with most of these personalities?” He pressed.
“I’ve met or know of almost all of them,” I replied, wondering where this was going.
“That’s what I thought,” he dropped the pile back on the desk and crossed his arms again. “I’m bringing you in on this case as a consultant.”
I wasn’t prepared for that. What did he mean, bringing me in as a consultant? I had no medical degree. I had no professional expertise. What could I do?
Before I could voice my confusion, a federal agent appeared in the doorway, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“Sir, we have a lead.” Almost everyone in the room rose to their feet in unison. Everyone except for me. I think I was still in a state of shock.
“What do we have?” Phillips all but demanded.
“They found the Lexus abandoned in Colorado, at a truck stop just outside of Golden,” the young agent answered. “A forensic team is going over it right now. They found a letter on the front passenger’s seat. It was obviously meant to be found. It was addressed to Cate.”
Chapter Fifteen
The jet black Lexus LX had been found by a Colorado State trooper while he was patrolling a truck stop after getting the all-points bulletin. Fortunately, he kept a digital camera with him to document accident scenes. He took a picture of the note found inside the Lexus and the Director was now just waiting for the picture to be uploaded to him through a secure network.
As the picture downloaded, Field Director Phillips turned the police chief’s computer monitor around so we could all see the screen. The image started to come into focus.
“Cate,”I recognized the handwriting. It was on plain yellow legal paper. Just looking at it gave me chills and brought back uncomfortable memories.“Did you like our little message we left for you? It took a long time but we found him. It wasn’t easy. But he deserves this. We’ve been planning this for a long time. Come and find me if you dare, Cate. He’s going to die, do you care?”
“It’s addressed to you,” it was more of a statement than a question coming from the Director.
I nodded quietly, taking it all in.
“So you can confirm this is Elizabeth Marshall?” The Director asked.
“Yes,” I answered then added, “but more importantly, this is Maxine.”
The Director looked away from the image of the note on the computer monitor and gave me his full attention. He was back to crossing his arms across his chest.
“Tell me about Maxine.” He firmly requested.
It was a moment before I spoke. How to put Maxine into words?
“Maxine is very tough,” I began, thinking though the various times I had had to deal with her during my visits to see Lisbeth in the mental hospital. “She’s in her early thirties. She’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Sometimes, in our sessions, you could actually see some of the tattoos appear on her skin, they were so real to her.”
“Is that possible?” Chief Brickman spoke up for the first time, obviously shocked at the possibility.
“It’s been well documented in several cases,” I answered, thinking back to one of my psychology classes, “scars will appear with some personalities that aren’t there with the core personality. Physical features can change, eye color, skin tone, even piercings.” I remembered how often her physical characteristics would change from one personality to another. “The mind is a very powerful influence.”
“What else can you tell us about this Maxine?” Phillips pressed forward, “What can you tell us that can help us find her before there’s another victim?”
“Maxine is a truck driver,” I remembered, starting to put the pieces together. “That’s probably why you found the Lexus at a truck stop. She blends in well in that kind of an environment. She’ll probably be catching a ride with another driver to get her to the next place she’s trying to reach.”
“Texas?” The director asked the room at large then put his direct gaze right back on me. “Does she know anyone in Texas? Any family, friends, relatives?”
“I don’t think Lisbeth does,” I answered as truthfully as I remembered, “she and her mother had no family. Her father was nonexistent. They had no extended family that they had any contact with that I knew of. What other friends they had that I knew of were few and limited to the local area.” I was at a loss as to who she could be heading to Texas to see.
“Agent Kurtis,” Director Phillips gestured to one of the federal agents in the room, “let’s get this information to all the patrols between Golden and the Texas state line. We need to alert the US Marshall
s and the Texas Rangers. There are more trucks on our highways than I care to count, and we don’t know where in Texas she could be heading. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”
“Yes sir.” Special Agent Kurtis left the room immediately to follow the director’s orders.
“Caitlyn,” Phillips came to his feet then turned towards me, “you’re coming with me. I have a lot of work for you to do.”
I wasn’t sure if I liked the sound of that.
Chapter Sixteen
Logan and I followed the Field Director back into the briefing room. An additional dry-erase board had been brought in to the side of the room. An additional computer had been brought in as well as a thick medical file with Elizabeth Marshall’s name on it. The director was giving me the task – more like an order – to document and detail each of Lisbeth’s various personalities and list them on the board, as well as any description of them I could remember. Logan was there to help me, when he wasn’t called away to answer questions or to speak with other officers or federal agents about the case.
I felt out of my element at first, wondering how I could possibly be any help to this investigation. I was just a college student after all. I was surrounded by federal agents and seasoned police officers. What could I contribute?
But as I stood at the large board and started listing the different members of the “family”, I realized that maybe I did have some very valuable information that could help locate Lisbeth.
I started at the top of the board with her formal name: Elizabeth Marshall. Then I went down the list with those I could remember, checking through Dr. Ross’ medical file and notes to compare his observations with what I had personally experienced.
Lisbeth was at the top of the list, her core personality, the one I considered my one time best friend. She was the one I knew the best.
Maxine came next because I thought there was a high probability that she was the dominant personality at this point. If she was calling the shots, it might help narrow down the search for her to try to think like Maxine.
On down the list it went: Vesper, Mick, Chad, Sophie, Slayer, Myst. Then in the next column: Lizzy, Bethany, Liz, Jade, Beth, Beth Ann, Sashan, Skye. It wasn’t until I was well down the list that I realized that I had created two distinct columns. The first were the members of the family that could possibly be dangerous, either physically or through what they were capable of. These were the personalities that the authorities most needed to know about and be aware of.
The second column contained the more docile members of the group, the least likely to cause harm. Although I didn’t think this section of the family was dangerous, there was a large possibility they still might hold information that could be useful.
There were more members of the family too, some I had met only briefly or had been referred to by the others. There was a young boy of about twelve named Justin. He was shy, mainly hid behind the others, and wasn’t discussed often.
Emily was a young mother who believed that her only child had died in stillbirth. She rarely presented, and when she did she usually just cried and sobbed to the point that you couldn’t understand her. The family called her “The Mourner”. She was probably created to give Lisbeth an outlet for her emotions. It was the one time it was okay to cry.
The list continued until I had filled up most of the dry-erase board. I hardly even noticed when Logan put a sub sandwich and a cold drink in front of me that it was past dinner time. I ate without thought, hardly tasting the turkey and avocado. I kept staring up at the board. Something was missing.
I went over the list again then scanned though the medical records and any other notes I could find. The list seemed complete but something kept gnawing at me.
I looked around the room at the other officers and federal agents in the room. I glanced at the information they were gathering, the constant buzz as they made calls out to numerous jurisdictions. I was surprised at how often they looked over at me, many of them more than a bit interested by the list I was compiling.
The other boards drew me and I stood to walk to the front of the room to see what they had added. I hadn’t realized how stiff I was feeling from the lack of exercise that day.
One large wall had been taken over by a map of the United States. There was now a red line starting from this tiny suburb of Riverview, leading up Highway 84 and over to Park City. The trail then went eastward on Highway 40, across the easternmost part of the state of Utah, across the Colorado state line, to the western part of that state. The line then dropped down to I-70 until it stopped just short of Golden, Colorado. That was the last place where we had a clue from her. There were several major interstates that could be used between Golden and the state of Texas. It could be accessed by going through New Mexico, Kansas or Oklahoma. There was no telling which way she was headed.
I walked back over to the other boards and glanced at the pictures there, noting the increased information received from the previous crime scenes. The smaller jurisdictions seemed to be really opening up to the FBI. I looked at the different pictures of the “symbol”, from the artist’s rendering to actual digital photos taken from the victims. That’s when it hit me.
I was back looking at my list in a heartbeat, looking it over again. Then I remembered the letter Barbara had left in the box, the one I had found under the trailer. I drew the symbol up on the board next to Elizabeth Marshall’s name.
Could it be possible? I’d always known there could be additional splits. Was there another member of the family, a newer member? I realized it was a very distinct possibility. Next to her name and the symbol I put two more words.
Altus Dracona.
Chapter Seventeen
The last few days had been some of the most exhausting of my life. It was well after dark before I gathered my things and prepared to go home.
I glanced around the room at all the information that had been gathered so far on the hunt for Elizabeth Marshall. Although the information was well organized and helpful, I was beginning to see that real life wasn’t at all like the forensic shows on TV. The crime wasn’t committed, investigated, then solved, all wrapped up in a tight bow within an hour.
Despite all our hard work, despite my own extensive research, most of which I still felt I was only scratching the surface of, there was still no sign of Lisbeth. Every law enforcement agency had been alerted between here and Texas, but it was like trying finding a needle in a haystack. More like trying to find the eye of a needle in a haystack. And this was just the first day without word of her. I tried not to become discouraged.
“Caitlyn, do you have a minute before you leave?” Logan was at my side. He had been all over today, in and out of the Chief’s office, on the phone, on the computer, helping me with my research. I was so tired at this point I was only now just realizing that I hadn’t seen him for a while.
“Sure,” I agreed with a slight nod, “what is it?”
“Field Director Phillips wants to see you for a moment,” he gestured towards the chief’s office. The stress from the last few days was starting to show in the dusky shadows beneath his eyes. We exchanged a silent look between us that communicated how we both felt.
It was interesting how close I felt to Logan after such a relatively short amount of time. There already seemed to be an unspoken language between us that usually doesn’t come into a relationship until after an extended amount of time. I had heard it said that relationships begun under a high amount of stress could be that way. I certainly felt as though I had known him much longer than I actually had.
He walked beside me down the hall to the chief’s office, our arms brushing occasionally as we walked. Once in the office, Director Phillips was just finishing up a phone call and gestured for us to each take the same seats we had earlier.
“That was our field office in El Paso,” Phillips explained as he hung up the phone and typed a few notes into his laptop that now sat on the desk. “I was giving them a heads up on the
situation.” After he finished his typing he moved that direct gaze back to me. Again, I realized that I never wanted to be interrogated by this man. It felt as though he could see right through you with those dark brown eyes.
“Ms. Stewart,” he was addressing me formally, which I wasn’t sure I liked, “I want to thank you for your help with our investigation. Your information has been very valuable.” Was he dismissing me? Thanks for the help but we’ll take it from here? I wasn’t certain where this was going. “I have something for you.” He picking up something off the desk and handed it to me. I reached out my hand and took the plastic laminated ID badge attached to a black lanyard. With a shock I looked down at my driver’s license photo and next to that the words: “Caitlyn Stewart, FBI, Special Consultant”.
“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of doing a background check on you,” his tone was slightly apologetic, “entirely routine, you know. Anyone involved in an investigation like this is required to be screened. All we could find was a speeding ticket out of North Carolina.” He smiled at that, the first smile I’d seen from him. He seemed like a proud father to have found no dirt on me. “Your ex-husband was a real bastard, by the way, but that’s beside the point.”
Logan gave me a raised eyebrows look at that comment. I wasn’t one to elaborate on that period of my life. The director continued.
“I don’t know how long this investigation is going to take. So far, the trail has gone cold since Golden, Colorado, but we’re still early into it,” he put his hands flat on the desk on each side of the laptop. I could sense his fatigue too. “I’ve taken the liberty of contacting your employer at the law firm and requesting a leave of absence for you.”
My eyes flashed up to his. He did what? Didn’t he realize that I was a struggling student with bills to pay and student loans? I opened my mouth to protest but he cut me off.
